


Drabbles of a Screaming Eagle

by RedWiddershins



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Drabble Collection, Gen, Light Angst, The pairing isn't the main focus! Though it will be present, Vignette, headcanons, tags will be added as the story updates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-02 05:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedWiddershins/pseuds/RedWiddershins
Summary: A collection of stand-alone drabbles about the Soldier. The topics of these drabbles will vary, although they all focus on personal headcanons. Each drabble is prompted by one word.





	1. Fog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions/implications of past physical abuse. Also, internalized ableism.

Soldier was not a smart man. He knew that even if he didn't say it. After all, plenty of other people expressed that fact already. Even his own teammates, though it was more out of exasperation than maliciousness. It was to be expected when one was at war. They could go ahead and do that. Meanwhile, he would be busy out on the battlefield, blowing the brains out of his enemies. He would keep doing what he loved more than life itself. He would keep perfecting the art of war until even Sun Tzu would commend him.

So he couldn't say the jabs bothered him. But sometimes, there were days when the fog in his head was worse than usual. There was always a fog in his head, though Medic might've called it "brain fog" if he was aware of Soldier's disoriented state of thought. But he didn't and Soldier would like for it to stay that way. What kind of a soldier would he be if he betrayed any of his weaknesses? He wouldn’t be a true soldier, that was for sure.

During days when his head felt murkier than usual, he tended to make more mistakes. They were mistakes that would be considered "too stupid", even for someone like him. On those days, the constant pain in his joints ached more than usual. Not even Medic’s Medi-Gun could heal the pain away, although Soldier tried not to let Medic know of his condition. “Pain was weakness leaving the body”, as he learned growing up. It was an important lesson that was beaten into him.

Still, these days were the ones he hated the most.

Still, he accepted it as one of the many facts of life.

Nothing could keep down the American spirit within him. Not even pain itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my headcanons for Soldier is that he deals with chronic pain and brain fog and has some internalized ableism he refuses to address. I wish to explore this more someday.
> 
> This is the first drabble of a short series that I'll be updating daily for a week!


	2. Patrol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soldier's thoughts on Spy.

At first, Soldier didn’t like Spy. It wasn’t the fact he was French, though it took a while for Soldier to learn of this fact. It had more to do with Spy’s attitude, how high and mighty he appeared to be towards everyone. It had to do with how Spy was a spy - Soldier learned to never trust spies, not even the ones on your team.

But times have changed. Years passed and Soldier learned more things about the Spy. For one thing, Spy did care about his teammates. It debunked one of Soldier’s long-held notions. It only occurred to him that it was a fact when he caught Spy at a night patrol. 

Now, he knew that night patrol was a gruelling task, fit for insomniacs. It was not a task that most of his teammates would take willingly. It might be because it was an unnecessary job. After all, Engie’s sentry guns has never failed the team yet.

Regardless, Soldier still felt the need to do his God-given job and patrol the perimeter of the base. One needed to look out for their team whenever possible. It helped during nights when insomnia grabbed hold of him and refused to let go.

Imagine his surprise one night when he saw a double of himself patrolling the perimeter. It appeared that it was a Spy, but not the enemy’s Spy. Of course the Spy would disguise as him. He was always the subtle, sneaky type.

Soldier could have questioned Spy on his actions, but he didn’t. Soldier may not be a smart man. Still, he knew it took a certain type of mercenary to do an unnecessary job like night patrol. 

“Be on guard, Frenchie.” It was all Soldier could say before he walked past the disguised Spy.

The brief look of shock on Spy’s face was something that Soldier would remember for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been fun writing these out!


	3. Malaise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the Soldier stops and thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There are mentions and references to Christianity. However, this is not the main focus of the drabble.

Despite being a priest in Guam, it was rare for the Soldier to pray. There was no time to relax, no time to be at ease. But there were rare moments when he would catch himself in deep thought.

Sometimes, deep thoughts could erupt from a simple phrase.

"At ease, Soldier," the Spy told him in passing. It was said in mockery after a conversation Soldier could no longer remember.

It was the most common phrase Soldier ever heard in the military movies he embraced. However, he could not find it within himself to embrace the phrase.

There was always something to remain unsatisfied about. 

The never-ending Gravel War.

The lull and monotony in-between battles.

The repressed feelings and gaps in memories he ignored.

There was always something to remain uneasy with. 

He would sometimes feel at unease with his own country, the land of liberty and the epitome of freedom. There were days when even his great homeland of America would put him on edge. There were days when he noticed the lack of justice. He would be all too aware of the broken promises this country was founded upon.

Yet he dared not speak it. It was blasphemous enough in the first place for him to think of this.

He was a proud American straight from the heartlands! It did not matter he could no longer remember exactly where in the heartlands he was originally from.

He would still be a proud American even if there were days he questioned what he was fighting for. 

It would be better if he stopped questioning. It would be better if he stopped noticing.

Life was complicated enough, he didn’t need to create unnecessary problems.

May God bless America, the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Amen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As jingoistic and callous as the Soldier is, I can't help but think he has doubts. However, he tends not to think about it too deeply. Like an ignored epiphany.
> 
> Writing these drabbles have been relaxing for me. I'm glad that you all are enjoying this as well!
> 
> Please feel free to share any thoughts and constructive criticism you may have. I'm always happy to hear them!


	4. Smell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that the strongest sense you can remember is the sense of smell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of WW2, brief descriptions of blood, smoking, and food.

They say that the strongest sense you can remember is smell.

Soldier wondered if that were true.

Whenever Pyro or Engie baked apple pie, the heavenly scent of sweet apples mixed with cinnamon would bring him back to his childhood. At least, the bits he could remember. He knew there was a kitchen with cracked tiles and sunlight dancing through the broken windows. Yet that was all he knew. He wished he could remember more. Headaches discouraged him from deeper recounting. In the rare moments when his teammates talked about their childhood stories, he was one of the few who would opt out.

While fighting in the Gravel Wars, familiar scents welcomed him like a cloak. It was like the first time he stepped on to the European battlefields. Where the metallic smells of blood were so sharp, he could taste it. The intensity of gunpowder. The smell of death. Aside from those details, he was uncertain of what happened in Europe. Not that he would admit it. He was unsure if he wanted to remember. It was best to forget what happened.

During nights, when he and Spy allowed themselves a moment of vulnerability, Soldier would try. He would try to remember the overwhelming stench of French cologne that Spy wore off the battlefield. Although Soldier would claim to hate it, he really couldn’t. Not that he could let the crouton know. In the moments when they’d do nothing but smoke on the rooftop, the familiar scent of Spy’s Galoises cigarettes was strong. 

They say that the strongest sense you can remember is smell.

Soldier wondered if that were true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first rocket-jump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Head injury

Soldier was the first rocket-jumper from his town in the middle of nowhere.

It began when he had to read one of Shakespearicle's plays for school. He had little interest in the play itself, all except for one scene. The hero propelled himself into the air with the aid of an old-fashioned rocket launcher. While he heard plenty about rocket-jumping on the radio and in the newspapers, there weren't any practitioners in his town. The most logical solution was to become a practitioner of rocket-jumping himself.

From what little he remembered of his parents, Soldier knew they were against the practice. They told him he was too young for such an endeavour.

"And besides, where are you gonna get a rocket launcher anyway?"

His maternal grandmother was the answer. He could not remember the details or the reasoning, but his grandmother gifted it to him on a birthday. Much to his parents’ dismay, he began using it.

After his first attempt, he couldn’t walk for a week. He built up immunity after numerous attempts. But he could barely launch himself a foot into the air before breaking his bones. As medical visits were too expensive, he insisted on learning first-aid himself.

It was June when Soldier learned how to truly rocket-jump. All he had to do was bend his knees.

When he soared into the sky, the wind rushed past his ears. His eyes watered from the pressure. Upon reaching his peak, time appeared to freeze. For a moment, it felt as if he could touch the heavens.

Was this what Abraham Lincoln felt like before his tragic accident at the stairs?

In less than a second, gravity pulled him down. His head hit the hard ground. His ears rang. Something cracked. Pain shot up his spine.

Before he passed out, someone screamed. He couldn’t remember if it was himself.

When he woke up in a white room, the town doctor looked over him with a clipboard.

“What is your name, young man?”

And Soldier couldn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking of de-anoning this work once it's done...
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket-jumping is like a waltz.

The cacophony of dying screams, crackling fire and deafening explosions was a melody to the Soldier's ears.

Each time he launched himself into the air, it was like a waltz. A rocket jump waltz, to be exact. It wasn't like any stuffy European waltz. Rather, it was American, thus better. It would never be found on the shiny dance floors of drab social events. It was a dance that belonged in the outstretched skies of the battlefield. No need for frills or satin attires. All one needed was a rocket launcher and an American spirit.

The rocket jump waltz was a dance for those who vowed to fight for freedom. It was a dance for real fighters who were unafraid to laugh at death in the face and threaten to shoot. From Shakespearicles to Abraham Lincoln, it was the dance of the greats. Soldier hoped he could join them someday.

With the explosion of a rocket, a fierce crescendo began. His ascendance into the skies was a slow tempo. His bombings on the enemy kept the beat. His shovel against an enemy’s skull crashed together in a duet. His laughter as he descended was part of the coda. The waltz was short, but his thirst for spilled blood never ended. 

He will keep dancing. Dancing through the skies in a waltz that repeated itself throughout battle.

Spies, temporary bouts of death and Snipers could never bring him down.

Thus, the rocket jump waltz would live on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder about what it would be like to rocket jump in real-life. Once you get used to it and fear no death, then I imagine it'd be hard to stop. I know it cannot be accomplished, but it's a fun thought!
> 
> Thank you for reading thus far! I appreciate the support. Tomorrow, I'll de-anon this work.


	7. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Soldier, fighting is everything. Except when it's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular drabble goes heavier on the SoldierSpy, although not outright romantic.

Following orders is what a soldier does best. Soldiers should not question the orders of their superiors. At least, it was what the Soldier learned while growing up. If everyone said it was right, then it must be true.

He was bent on following that rule: a soldier only follows orders and never questions said orders. It meant when he was out on the battlefield, he would follow whoever assumed a superior role. However, he had to admit there were times his superiors were wrong. It was a consequence of being human.  

But it wasn't only his teammates who were wrong. The superiors who told him he couldn't fight in Europe were wrong as well.

It brought to mind one of his favourite quotes from Sun Tzu's _Art of War_ : "If fighting is sure to result in victory, then you must fight, even though the ruler forbid it..."

He fought ever since. Ever since he became a mercenary, he was even paid for it. While money wasn’t the main motivation, it was a nice bonus to the sheer adrenaline rush of a good fight. There weren’t many places where one could fight and kill with no consequences, after all. Even if he had no idea why he was hired, it didn’t matter. What mattered the most were the lively battles and the sweet taste of victory.

If victory was within reach, then he must fight for it. He must never surrender.

He followed this for the most part.

Life was a battle. It was familiar, thus comforting. Peace did not comfort him. Who knew how long it lasted? At least conflict was constant, thus reliable.

It came as a surprise whenever he realized he didn’t always have to fight.

Moments like these felt vulnerable. Moments like these were rare.

It made him think of Spy. Everybody on the battlefield had to be a good fighter, even if his own teammates were better. However, Spy stood out to him.

Before his mercenary work, he never expected for a man in a pricey suit to be a fighter. Much less a man who always hid his face behind a mask. Besides, there was no trust to be had in spies, snakes that they were.

As he knew more about him, Soldier learned that this Spy had his own agenda. Which didn’t matter. He didn’t hurt the team, even after all these years. Rather, he looked after them. Even if the crouton thought nobody could see him.

Spy rarely gave him the time of the day. But lately, things were changing between them.

Even if there were no words to describe it, as Soldier couldn’t remember much. His mind was always in the present and on the immediate future.

What mattered was that Spy began to spend some time with him. Voluntarily. They may be casual smoking buddies, but there was nothing in a Spy’s contract that would warrant such an interaction.

If anything, Spy should be avoiding him. Soldier was the opposite of everything the Spy stood for. Hell, his job was ‘shock and awe’! He might not be a smart man, but even he knew Spies were meant to be as quiet and subtle as possible.

Soldier knew Spies shouldn’t appear to be vulnerable. Vulnerability was a death wish. Moments of vulnerability were rare.

Which meant Spy understood. He understood when Soldier wanted to stay quiet, smoking the night away on the rooftops. He understood when even the resident screaming eagle needed to roost.

Even if someone were to ask Soldier, there was no need for him to fight Spy during these moments. There would be no victory to be had. Thus, he wouldn’t fight.

After all, Sun Tzu said something else as well: “… if fighting will not lead to victory, then you must not fight even at the ruler’s bidding.”

Pursuing victory could wait, if it meant he didn’t have to be vulnerable alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This collection was meant as a way to kick me out of a writer's block as I keep working on "God Bless America". It forced me to write every day for a week and to let go of my performance anxiety. It also made me realize that I like writing vignettes.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this, as well as your support!
> 
> As of today (08/31/18), this work is now de-anoned. If you would like to reach me, please look out for tumblr @redwiddershins.


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